


fuel to the fire

by fictionalrobin



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Angry Alec Lightwood, Angry Magnus Bane, Fights, Hurt Magnus Bane, M/M, Magnus Bane Deserves Nice Things, Magnus Bane's past, Out of Character, alec is stupid, im a disgusting piece of shit and i hate myself, magnus bane's mother - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-02 01:01:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14533284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalrobin/pseuds/fictionalrobin
Summary: Magnus and Alec fight and Alec does something very stupid





	1. bird bones

Alec is angry  

Alec is so fucking angry. 

They're fighting over the box again. And that is an again with capitol A. he doesn't know how it happened. They'd gotten better. They'd actually talked to each other for the first time in weeks. Expressed their emotions, and  _talked_ , instead of the halfhearted chit-chat by bed-time, when both of them were about to pass out anyways. 

And it'd went well. 

They'd gone out. Went to this bar near queens, that Magnus really likes. They'd laughed, and drunk, and kissed.  

And now they're yelling at each other. 

"why won't you just move on!" Magnus screams. His hand flings out, and it probably would've hit Alec, if they weren't standing a few meters apart, "why can't you just move on a forget about it!"  

"forget about it?" Alec's lounges burn. It feels like he's breathing in cigarette smoke instead of oxygen "forget about it! Yeah, easy for you to say! I bet your  _real_ used to forgetting about things!" 

Magnus rolls his eyes, "oh my god, seriously! Could you stop twisting my words!"  

"but it's true isn't it?" Alec spits. He knows he's stepping too far. He knows it. But jealousy boils in his blood and blurs his mind. And yes, he's jealous. He's way past admitting that by now. He's jealous, because he has every other lover in that box to compete with. He's jealous because one day Magnus's new lover is going find that box, just like he did, and ask Magnus about it. And then he'd be nothing but a story. A bittersweet memory, for Magnus to take out and look at when he felt like it.  

"Alec," Magnus sighs. He's tired. Alec can tell, "can we please, just, just forget about it, it's unimportant right now."  

 _O_ _ne day, he'd become un_ _important, just like all the others_  

He's scared.  

He's not jealous, he's scared.  

Which is probably why he does what he's about to do.  

Alec picks up the box from the mantelpiece.  

"unimportant?"  

Magnus looks up at Alec's tone. His eyes widen, "Alec."  

Alec smacks the lid open. The tiny charms and gadgets glimmer at him from their wooden cage. There's probably only about a dozen, but right then it seems like there are hundreds. Thousands. Thousands of past and future lovers above him. Under him. Around him.  

He's just another brick in the wall.  

"then why do you even keep this thing?" The words are filled with fear, but when they hop out of his mouth they sound like hate. Like angry green frogs of hate. "ribbit, ribbit," they say, as they jump down on the ground and leave a sour taste in Alec's mouth.  

He picks out a random piece. A pale wooden stick with feathers and beads tied around it. The wood is hollow and light like a bird bone, and Alec can probably crush it if he wants to.  

And he wants to.  

"Alec, no!" There's fear in Magnus's voice now, and it makes his stomach churn.  _Wonder who this is from? Wonder how much more important they are than_ _Alec? How many years they got to spend with Magnus? Did Magnus love them as much as he loved Alec, and told them things he swore he'd never told_ _anyone else_ _?_  

He's not thinking straight, and that's why, before he knows it he's thrown the thing into the fire. The flames catch on in almost immediately and the thin wood crumbles away. 

Magnus screams.  

He falls to his knees scatters towards the fireplace, in a way that probably would've been funny if the situation wasn't so serious. He fumbles through the fire, seemingly not caring about burning his hands, in a last desperate attempt to collect the piece.  

But it's too late.  

The last of the feathers have already disintegrated, leaving behind a burned smell of dust.  

"why are you sad?" Alec says. It isn't frogs hopping out of his mouth anymore. It's toads. Big and gross and green, with moles and wards and big bulging eyes.  

"I thought you were the one who wanted to stay in the moment?"  

Magnus is shaking.  

"then why would you hold on to the past?"  

"THAT WAS MY MOTHERS! YOU FUCKING PRICK!"  

Magnus isn't crouching anymore. He's standing tall, fists shaking at his sides.  

Alec freezes 

 _O_ _h_  

 _O_ _h shit_  

He wants to say something, but he can't. His mouth is frozen shut. Someone has hammered long cold nails all the way through his jawbone, up through his teeth and into the roof of his mouth, until he can't open his mouth anymore.  

Magnus has already turned away. The front door slams behind him. And Alec has never felt so small in his life. Smaller than a speck of dust. So tiny and so pathetic.  

The loft is quiet now.  

He stands in the silence, and feels small and out of place, as the guilt begins to gnaw on his insides. There are no frogs or toads left in his throat anymore. They're sitting on the Belgian rug now, laughing at him with their hoarse rasping laughter.  

He feels so small.  

 _S_ _o small_  

 _S_ _o small_  

 _A_ _nd it's all his fault_  


	2. oceanic

The waves brushed slowly over his ankles. The cold seafoam kissing his calves. Every time it pulled back, it took some of the sand around his feet, and buried them deeper into the soft ground. He could feel the pebbles caress his skin.  

It tickled.  

He'd left his shoes longer up the beach, between the big warm rocks, with his shirt draped over them. He didn't want them stolen. But he was sure there lived a couple of spiders in the cold cracks between the rocks that would watch them for him. 

It was midday. He probably shouldn't be out in the sun. The skin on his shoulders was already starting to feel tight.  

Mama would get mad if he ended up with a burn.   

Actually, she'd probably be mad no matter what.  

He wasn't supposed to go down here. Not alone. But he hadn't known where else to go. Mama was weird lately. Papa was weird too. Everything was weird. And he couldn't understand why. 

They wouldn't talk to him anymore.  

He missed them.  

The wind caressed his face. The coolness contrasted the harsh sun beams and brushed his hair back.  

It felt good.  

The sea was good.  

The sea was safe. 

A little crab crawled across the ocean floor. The clear water slurred its movement, so it looked like a rock. But rocks don't move. Tito smiled and carefully bend down to pick it up.  

Guess he wasn't so alone after all.  

The crab wiggled its triangular legs in the air, like it was trying to dance away from him. He turned it over to the soft white underside, where the shell assembled. The crab wiggled even more. The tiny eyes raved around like weather vanes during a tornado.  

Sea spider.  

Mama liked crabs.  

She liked the ocean.  

He liked the ocean too.  

When he was a bit younger, he used to claim that'd he'd never had soft souls under his feet. He'd been running down the beaches ever since he was born, and the rocky uneven sand had filed his feet ruff before they got the chance to be soft.  

And to some extent that was probably true.  

His mother had taken him for walks down this beach for as long as he could remember. Sometimes, if they had the time, they'd come in the early afternoon and not leave till the sun went down. Then papa would come down with snacks and drinks, and they'd just sit and watch the ocean, as Tito fell asleep in his mom's lap. Feeling sand between his fingers and toes. Smelling mom-scent mixed with ocean-scent and sand-scent and feel gently mom-fingers running through his hair.  

He put the crab down again. It sprinted away from him, almost insulted.  

 _"it belongs to the ocean"_  

Mama used to say that when they collected rocks. She'd always collect rocks when they walked down the beach. She'd pick one up, hold it in her palm for a little while, and then let it go.  

 _"that's where it comes from, and that's where it's supposed to be._ _You can't just come and take it without returning it._ _T_ _hat's just rude_ _._ _"_  

In a way, he supposed, he belonged to the ocean too.  

Not in the same way the rocks or the crab or the seashells or the fish or the jellyfish or the algae or the salt or the sand did.  

In a different way.  

Mama liked the round rocks. The ones that were completely smooth and egg-shaped from years of lying in the shoreline. Pushed back and forwards by the water. Slowly being molded by sand and pebbles scrapping across the surface.  

Tito likes the stones with holes. He liked it when you could hold them up to the sun and look through them. Like keyholes. He liked the ones that were slightly see-through too. The ones that looked like gemstones when you held them under water. 

His legs were going numb. The kind cold waves had completely anesthetized his skin. Maybe it was time to go home now?  

But going home meant facing the silence. It meant that he'd officially taken a trip to the ocean all by himself. Without any grown-ups at any point.  

It would mean, that his and mamas beach trips were officially over. Or not over. If he was lucky they'd maybe go for a trip again some time. But it wouldn't be the same.  

It would no longer just be their thing.  

Maybe he'd collect her some driftwood? That would cheer her up.  

Driftwood you were allowed to take.  

Driftwood didn't come from the ocean the same way the rocks or the seagulls or the salt or the seafoam or the round smooth stones or the empty snail houses did.  

Driftwood came from the land.  

 _"but it didn't come from the right land," m_ _ama_ _gently brushes her hands over his_ _cheeks_ _, "so it took off to find another land, one where it belonged, and that's here, with you."_  

Sometimes, mom would make carvings out of the driftwood. Beautiful pieces of art, jewelry, décor, windchimes, talismans, charms, amulets, trinkets, whatever she could come up with. She'd sell them, either on the market, to the neighbors, or sometimes to the settlers along the road.  

She was talented.  

Tito had many times tried to recreate some of her work. But it always came out clumsy and bulky. He'd proudly present it too his mother either way, and she'd laugh and kiss his forehead and thank him.  

Maybe he could do that now.  

Maybe he could make her something out of driftwood. Something to make her smile. Laugh. Touch him again. Kiss him again. Just one more time.  

Yeah. 

Yeah he'd do that.  

He turned around and sloshed out the water. It seemed as if it didn't want to let him go. The waves licked up his feet like sad kittens, and he shushed them and promised he'd be back in a bit.  

He rushed up the shore. First across the hard even sand-surface where only high waves could reach. Patting it down but still giving it time to dry. Then up into the pale soft sand, that crumbled beneath his toes. It was warm, almost burning. And it stuck to his feet. In between his toes. Up his ankles and under his toenails.  

He leaned down to brush it off. More stuck. He sighed and gave up. Maybe h- 

 _V_ _rrrrrrrrrr_  

Magnus opens his eyes 

He shoves his hand into his jacket pocket and presses the mute button. He doesn’t even bother to look as the _(Alexander) 17 missed calls_ becomes _(Alexander) 18 missed calls_.  

He stands at the beach of Long Island. The waves crash across his naked feet. Small droplets reach his pants. He doesn't care. He can dry them later with magic.  

The water is cold.  

Colder than Indonesia. Much colder.  

But this is Long Island, so what did he expect?  

The late-night wind is harsh and cold. Like thousands of tiny glass shards hitting his face. And it's getting darker. The edge of the horizon is only a faint red glow. Soon it'll turn purple. Then blue. Then solid black. They didn't have stars in New York. Not like they did in Indonesia.  

 _V_ _rrrrrr_ _-_  

Mute. 

Magnus closes his eyes and tries to go back. He tries to return to Mom-scent and mom-smiles, and gentle mom-hands cupping his face.  

He hadn't really planned to go to Long Island. Not exactly. He just had to get to a beach. Hear the static of waves. Smell salt. Real salt. Not the cheap rip-off in scented candles, that he has grown used to. 

(the one Alec likes) 

 _V_ _rrrrrrrrrrrrrr_  

Mute.  

Alec. 

 _Alexander._  

He didn't care. Alec didn't give a single fuck. He thought he did, but he didn't. He didn't. He really didn't.  

And it hurt. 

He squeezes his eyes shut. No. Not that. Mom. Think of mom. Of the time she took you down to catch jellyfish and you saw that really big one with the blue legs.  

He thinks he hears someone else on the beach. Probably teenagers sneaking out to party. Either way they don't bother him.  

 _V_ _rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr_  

His phone sounds almost insulted by now. Like a passive aggressive parent ripping the sheets of you in the morning, even though it's weekend you have plenty of time to sleep in.  

It must be Isabelle calling then.  

"you really should pick up, you know."  

The voice comes sudden and abrupt. Not behind him. Right next to him. He turns to see who it comes from.  

She's wearing a hat.  

A wide sunhat of straw, with a white ribbon around it. Black strands of hair tousle around underneath it, like tentacles trying to escape. She's wearing something that looks like a white dress with a brown apron. One of those from the sixties. Which is strange, since she's never even been near such a dress, much less worn it.  

"it's rude."  

Mom turns to him and smiles. The sunhat billows and crinkles in the wind and casts strange shadows on her face.  

Magnus laughs. 

Great. Now he's seeing things.  

"what do you know about phone etiquette?" He asks. 

She's carrying a basket. It rests in the bend crook of her right elbow. It's a round picnic basket in dark polished wood.  

"apparently more than you do," she replies.  

So that's where he got his sass from. 

Her legs are bare. Unlike him, she doesn't have drenched clothes to worry about. Her dress moves in the wind. Almost like a really big jellyfish with blue legs.  

"do you have a spoon?"  

Magnus furrows his brow, "what?"  

"do you have a spoon?" She repeats.  

"do I-uh no?" 

"pity," she mumbles, "I guess we'll have to stir the tea with our fingers then." She hands him a steaming cup of tea, that he could've sworn wasn't in her hand before. But the lid of the picnic basket is open, and he can see more steam billowing out of it.  

He looks down at the cup. It's brown. It doesn't have a handle. Just smooth, painted ceramic. Like the ones he used to own when he lived in Japan. The beverage swirls in the cup. In the fading light it looks orange. He can see the leaves pool at the bottom, and feel the steam hit his face.  

"this isn't real," he mumbles, "you're just a hallucination."  

Mom doesn't say anything. She closes the picnic basket and sips her tea. He can hear the soft slurp she makes to test if it's still too hot.  

"you really should talk to him," she states. Her eyes are directed at the ocean. At the slow waves creeping towards them with glistening tops, "hiding here isn't going to resolve anything."  

"I'm not hiding," he protests. 

"are you sure?"  

He doesn't know what to say to that. He stares back down at the cup. Carefully, he brings it up and takes a sip. It's not there, but it feels very real and very hot. Lemongrass. Ginger. A hint of peppermint. It's comforting.  

"I'm not a child anymore," he mumbles, "you can't lecture me and send me to bed without dinner anymore." 

"someone takes pity in themselves," she says, suddenly cold, "you're right. Lets all sit down and have a big pity party for little Tito. poor little Tito, who has it sooooo hard."

"shut up," he says, and the teacup burns in his palms as he squeezes the ceramic, "that's not my name anymore." 

She squints her eyes, so only a sliver of black I visible between her eyelashes, "your name is whatever I decide it is. No matter what you come up with, to make it sound fancy and European." 

"you're a hallucination."  

"am I?"  

He doesn't know why it makes him angry. Maybe because he just wants to be alone. He doesn't want dead mothers scolding him about tea and phone etiquette right now.  

"if you're not a hallucination, then tell me something I don’t know!" 

She's smiles. Her black eyes look him over, like he's a science experiment that just took an unexpected turn. 

"you still love him."  

He scoffs. The ocean almost drowns it, and he goes to take a sip of his tea.  

But it's gone.  

His hands are empty and cold. The space next to him is empty.  

He's alone.  

He scoffs again. Then laughs. Laughs loud and long, like a lunatic. Before he collapses in the shoreline. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had a whole fukin debate w/ @peraltiago0101 about magnus's birth name and Tito was the one we settled on. and yes i fully intent to write one if not multiple pics where Alec calls him "cheeto-Tito" also can we talk about magnus being an OCEAN MAAAAAAAAAN TAKE ME BY THE HAND LEAD ME TO THE LAAAAND THAT U UNDERSTAAAAAND


	3. Chapter 3

The slap sings when it hits Alec's cheek.  

He takes a step back in the darkened doorway and places a hand against the red mark he's sure blushes on his skin.  

"dick!"  

Catarina stands in front of him, her short arms harshly planted on her hips. She's wearing wrinkly jeans, and well-cuddled sweater. He's guessing she barely had any time to change out of her work attire.  

"do you have any idea what you've done!?"  

Actually, he has a pretty fucking good idea, since he has spent the last two weeks thinking about it. And he means the _entire_ two weeks.   

He hasn't been able to sleep.  

He and Magnus haven't spoken since. Since _the incident_ (he knows he could've come up with a more original name, but he honestly doesn't care. He doesn't care about a lot of things anymore). That isn't to say he hasn't tried. He's been calling and texting Magnus more than what's probably healthy.  

"hallo!" Catarina's sharp voice brings him back to his own body (which really is a shitty place to be) and he stares at her with dull eyes.  

"aren't you going to say sometimes?"  

He shrugs. His shoulders feel heavier than they used to. But he really has nothing to say. At the same time, he wants to say everything. He's dumb, and he's childish, and he doesn't deserve to be forgiven.  

"wow," Cat crosses her arms, so her sweater crinkles softly. It seems to be made of some fluffy, glittery yellow material, and Alec is almost sure Madzie helped pick it out, "you just shrug? Is that really all he's worth to you!? A shrug!!?"  

He doesn't shrug this time. But he doesn't talk either. He feels like if he opens his mouth, all that will fall out is just tar. Black and thick and bitter. He can already feel it burn in his throat.  

Catarina stares at him.  

The pain in his cheek is fading now. The mark is probably disappearing too. 

"you look like shit," she pushes past him, "let me in."  

It's not a question. Not even really an order. It's a bark. Not something that's up for discussion. And Alec simply steps aside. 

The loft looks like shit. He's attempted to keep it clean, mostly to distract himself from the crushing guilt. But it's not the same without Magnus. The curtains are drawn. Only a small sliver of light makes its way in underneath the balcony door.  

There's a little pile of dust on the coffee table. One spot, that Alec hasn't scrubbed and wiped with all might, all those nights where it felt like he couldn't breathe.  it's all that's left of the charm. A crumbled piece of coal and some dust.  

Guilt is an underestimation for the black hole that nags inside him every time he looks at it. It pokes and nudges at his heart with sharp needles, like he's a dead frog, that the world is trying to desiccate in a science class. _T_ _he anatomy of the_ _worst boyfriend_ _in the_ _world_ _101._   

Catarina stomps into the Livingroom. She grabs a fistful of curtain in each hand and pulls them aside. The blow from the fabric makes a miniature tornado of ash rise from the coal-pile.  

 _P_ _oke, nudge_  

Cat turns around, and in her own way she looks like a tornado.  

"now you're going to sit down," she says, in a very this-is-absolutely-not-a-choice kind of way, "and you're going to tell me exactly, what the fuck went through that moronic beet of yours that you call a head."  

Alec slumps down on the couch.  

"I..." It's probably the first time he's spoken for fourteen days, and his voice feels foreign and scratchy in his throat. He sounds like he just swallowed a box of thumbtacks. He trails off. Catarina just stands there. Here posture isn't getting any softer. It's just all hard edges and corners.  

And he can't say anything.  

He has nothing to defend himself. He's a dumb coward who acts before he thinks and doesn't think about anyone but himself.  

"I'm sorry."  

There's a little silence, where Cat just stares harder at him, "you're sorry?" She raises her eyebrow, "well, Lightwood, the fact that you're 'sorry' isn't really gonna do much." She steps closer. Very close in fact. So close that Alec can feel her breath hit his nose.  

 "do you know what you did to him?" She mutters. So low and so threatening that his skin crawls, "he's just sitting there, starring at the TV. He hasn't spoken one single word since he showed up. He isn't sleeping. He isn't eating. But sometimes," her voice breaks, and she grits her teeth, "sometimes he just laughs. And it's not because of the TV. Do you know what that's like, Lightwood? Can you imagine what that feels like? Just lying in your bed in the middle of the fucking night and hearing your best friend laugh like that? Like he's so fucking empty?"  

Tears are sliding down Alec's face now. Slow and quit drops that drip from his un-shaven chin. 

That hole. That black hole inside him is getting larger and larger. Darker and darker. And Alec feels like it might swallow him whole.  

"so _I'm_ sorry," Catarina finally steps back, "but the fact that you're sorry isn't gonna fix that."  

Then she turns around and walks away.  

"let me talk to him!" Alec gasps, and for the first time he looks her in the eye, "please...please, let me talk to him."  

Catarina looks him over. She looks at the tears staining his cheeks. At the smelly tank top and greasy boxers, he hasn't changed out of for the past two weeks.  

"you have no right to talk to him," she hisses, and Alec feels like he's being slapped all over again, "I lost every thread of respect I had for you, the second you betrayed him like that."  

"then why did you even come here?"  

"what?" 

He clenches his fist, "then why did you even come here?!"  

She stops, and for a moment she looks almost guilty. Like a child who's been caught not paying attention in class. Her lips tighten into a small white line.  

"fine!" She exclaims then, "fine! I'll let you talk to him, but only if _he_ wants it," she turns around, "we don't need you causing any more damage than you already have."  

Then she stomps out, slamming the door behind her.  

**Author's Note:**

> i couldn't sleep so i made myself very angry and wrote this
> 
> !!!!!!!PSA!!!!!!!!  
> so my both of my tumblr blogs got deleted, my main blog (@polar-robin) as well as my side blog where i posted my fan fictions (@fictionalrobin)
> 
> IF YOU KNEW ME ON ANY OF THOSE URLS THIS IS ME
> 
> i have yet to set up a new writing blog, so if you want to read my fics, you can just follow me @robinowich (it’s a lot of work to set up a blog and I’m already exhausted from setting up my main one)
> 
> no i don’t know what happened, to me it seemed random, however I had just edited my settings for the new privacy policy thing (WHICH IS IMPORTANT CUSS I WOULD LIKE TO KNOW IF ANYONE HAS EXPERIENCED A SIMULAR PROBLEM)
> 
> anyways, I lost 350 followers on one blog and close to 100 on the other, as well as three years of gain, and I had to set up a whole new email address, because tumblr still registered me as a user even though my blog had been deleted, and it just said “your blog has been terminated” when i tried to log in :’)


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